


the moon controls the tide, it could cause you to drown

by SilverNyxa



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: 1.5k words of me rambling, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, no tags we dont need em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28005468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverNyxa/pseuds/SilverNyxa
Summary: Dream doesn’t know why he’s still sticking around the sixteen year-old outcast and his terrorist-turned-ghost brother in their sad, pathetic little camp. He, undoubtedly, has better things to do with his time. But, for some damn reason, here he is, helping Tommy-fucking-Innit pitch a tent.Perhaps it’s the slightest bit of thrill he gets when he feels the rumble of explosives beneath his boots that keeps him there. It is definitely not the dull ache in his chest that does not go away no matter how many swords and helmets and leggings he buries into the ground. Obviously. That would be dumb, if that were the case. So fucking dumb.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 175





	the moon controls the tide, it could cause you to drown

Dream doesn’t know why he’s still sticking around the sixteen year-old outcast and his terrorist-turned-ghost brother in their sad, pathetic little camp. 

He, undoubtedly, has better things to do with his time. Whether it be a new, competing nation on the rise, or another murdered pet, the server could never go long without yet another conflict popping up out of nowhere that needed his attention. But, for some damn reason, here he is, helping Tommy-fucking-Innit pitch a tent. 

It’s kinda shitty, Dream has no problem admitting. The battered cloth tarp is barely hanging onto the pegs, and the misspelled sign is really the icing on top of the cake. Lord knows he is not here to witness any sort of architectural greatness. They’ve got Eret for that. 

(The thought of crowned kings and crumbling walls sends salt water rushing into his lungs. He swallows it.)

Perhaps it’s the slightest bit of thrill he gets when he feels the rumble of explosives beneath his boots that keeps him there. After all, this whole ordeal was to punish Tommy, and for God’s sake he’s going to get his money’s worth in being able to flaunt his power and control over the teen. He can’t help but feel ever so smug watching him fail to collect even the smallest scrap of iron ore, listening to his numerous outbursts and objections.

So yeah, that’s why he’s following Tommy around Logstedshire. It is because he likes to heckle and jeer, and because it’s fun to kick the kid when he’s already down. It is definitely not the dull ache in his chest that does not go away no matter how many swords and helmets and leggings he buries into the ground. Obviously. That would be dumb, if that were the case. So fucking dumb. 

Because Dream is a god amongst men. He is the puppet master who pulls all the strings, and he is the leader who rules with an iron fist, and he is the mastermind a hundred steps ahead of his competitors. He is the emperor, the creator, the ever-powerful deity. Gods do not feel pain, nor do they feel loneliness, and Gods do not care if their little human companions have apparently decided they’d rather cast him aside like rotten flesh after he tried to protect them, so he is currently forced to hang around the person he has, quite literally, exiled. 

~

Following the kid around the mine, it’s almost too easy to forget about the situation that brought them here in the first place. For just a moment, Dream finds himself able to ignore the tension hanging heavy in the air and the unspoken hostility hiding behind their lighthearted banter. 

“Why are you even here?” Tommy complains for what must be the thousandth time since he arrived. “Let me go home!” 

“Oh come on, you know you can’t, Tommy.” 

They’ve been at this for seemingly hours. Maybe if Dream lent more of a hand, they’d have finished up the mining trip ages ago, but sue him. It’s somewhat amusing to see all of the hard-earned obsidian scatter across the stone floor every time another monster steps out of the shadows to attack the pair. 

“Why not?” Tommy groans, just narrowly blocking a skeleton’s arrow with his shoddy pickaxe, only to brush his arm up against a cascade of lava. Dream wordlessly nudges him away from the hot liquid and hacks the mob into a pile of bones with a single swing of his axe. 

“Because! You’re exiled! Besides...” He stows away his weapon to throw his arms out to the side, gesturing to the looming cave walls around them. “ _ This _ is your home now, so you better get used to it.”

The teen scowls and rubs at the blistering burn on his upper arm. It’s a shame he doesn’t have any armor. “You’re a fucking dick, y’know that?” 

Dream’s breathy laugh echoes and bounces around the cavern. “Yeah, I know.”

~

The satisfaction surrounding Tommy wears off sometime when more and more gifts begin to arrive. At first, it’s just a small gift box from Bad that Dream forces the contents of down into a pit with a bundle of TNT, ignoring how his heart pangs. It isn’t long before a Christmas tree made with care stands tall beside the white tent, and a red cow-named ever so lovingly in honor of Tommy’s deceased pet-grazes amongst the fields of the new settlement. 

This whole situation makes no fucking sense to Dream, and there is little that he does not understand. Tommy has terrorized virtually every single member in the SMP territory, from robbery to griefing to everything in between. How the hell does Tommy, of all people, have these stupid presents laying at his doorstep every morning when he’s meant to be in exile? Shit, the entire reason he was cast out in the first palace was because of his destructive behavior. The people were meant to rejoice at the scoundrel’s banishment; they were meant to call Dream a saint, a savior, for finally bringing peace to the nation.

While looking out at the once barren camp, though now a somewhat welcoming homebase, it is then that Dream comes to a crushing realization. Despite being banished from his homeland, Tommy still has company. Better company than Dream himself. More preferable company, even.

What is it about Tommy that even miles away, people keep coming? Everyone just really fucking loves TommyInnit, huh? 

Well, almost everyone. At least, that’s what Dream tells both himself and Tommy, because how funny is it that your good friend Tubbo isn’t coming to visit you, Tommy? Hilarious, isn’t it, how Tubbo abandoned and burnt  _ his _ compass to you? Wouldn’t it be such a hoot if not a soul shows up to your stupid little beach partyーnot Ghostbur, not even Tubboーand suddenly you are completely alone with nobody on your side and the only person you have for company is your worst enemy?

What a riot. It’s so funny that Dream forgets to laugh as he stomps chicken scratch invitations and blue stones into the dirt.

It is not quite as humorous when Tommy repeatedly wanders a little too close to the edge of the newly-built nether path, peering over his toes to gaze at the boiling lava beneath him. Panic bubbles up inside of Dream, and he is super fucking glad his mask covers the entirety of face because  _ shit _ . Dream’s been threatening to kill the kid but somehow, the prospect of actually, truly losing Tommy strikes an absurd amount of fear in him. 

The air rushes back into his lungs only when he pulls Tommy back from the ledge by the hem of his shirt, and suddenly Dream can breathe again, because everything’s okay. Dream saved Tommy. Tommy would be dead without him, and Tommy would be alone without him. Tommy wouldn’t have friends without him.

Dream gets a rush of delight at that idea. Tommy is his friend now. There is no Sapnap, or Ghostbur, and there is no George nor is there a Tubbo. But there is a Dream and there is a Tommy and there is a friendship. 

The next time Tommy willingly sheds his armor, letting it clatter to the ground, Dream does not make a move to reach for his flint and steel. Why would he? The simple action has long since lost its luster. Besides, Dream doesn’t need to, nowadays. Tommy’s his friend, and Dream is the only one who actually attended his party because they are friends and that’s what friends do. Friends hang out, and they have fun together, and they, of course, would never ever leave each other’s side. 

At this point, Dream thinks he really should stop lying to himself, and his friend, Tommy, seems to agree too. 

“George is my friend.” Alas, Dream is somewhat of a huge ass liar. 

“Is he, though?” Tommy asks, and for the second time, Dream’s stomach drops. But it’s okay. It’s totally and perfectly fine because in the same way that Tommy doesn’t need Tubbo, he doesn’t need George, or Sapnap, does he? 

No, he doesn’t, and so Dream pitches another tent.

~

“This is home, now.” 

“Yeah?” Dream cocks his head, turning towards the boy. 

The two are sat on the sandy shore, ice cold waves lapping at their feet. Around them, the beach is littered with empty beach chairs and tattered party decorations. It’s eerily calm, and Dream can sense the beginnings of a storm on the horizon. They really ought to move the tents.

Tommy doesn’t look up at him, too focused on the photograph clutched in his hands. It’s hardly recognizable as New L’Manberg anymore; the once-bright ink has faded away and the thin paper was now almost torn to shreds after dozens upon dozens of near-death experiences that, luckily, Tommy survived all thanks to Dream.   
“They don’t care about me, do they?” he mumbles, finally tearing his eyes away from the picture, crumpling it into a ball. 

“Well, I mean,” Dream starts, nudging Tommy with his shoulder. “I do, though.”

“I think you’re the only one that does.”

“I think you’re right,” he pauses. “Am I...your friend?” Tommy stiffens beside him, and Dream steels himself, but the rejection does not come. 

Instead, after a moment, Tommy relaxes and lets out a puff of air through his lips. “Yeah, you’re my bud, big man.” 

And Dream cannot hear the roar of the waves over the sound of his heart swelling. 

  
  



End file.
